Sentential Links #174

Linkage...always linkage....

:: It is not comforting to me that we seem to be leaving the makeup of the Supreme Court to the admissions committees at the Yale and Harvard Law Schools.

:: If you're a citizen of a state other than ours, you can be forgiven for thinking that New York follows the accepted and established forms of governance to be found elsewhere. Nothing could be further from the truth. (Our State Senate debacle in a nutshell. Ugh. Both of these links via.)

:: Whenever I find myself talking about new media to skeptics of an older generation who worry that the standards online are too debased, I try to remind people that the real debasing came with the rise of multi-channel cable news. In terms of the Iranian elections, the world’s top newspapers have the people on the ground reporting the main facts, and there’s lots of smart analysis from legitimate experts all over the web, but on television if it can’t be captured by two talking heads debating each other it’s like it never happened.

:: It’s also likely that people were feeling the pinch before the official recession, but it went unnoticed because unless rich people see their portfolios shrink, the economy is fine in the media’s eyes. But in the light of the epic failure of the American car industry, we also have to ask ourselves---could it be that people started to realize that casual dining chains suck, and took their eating out dollar somewhere else?

:: I've spent the last few weeks revisiting Prydain, a land I loved very much when I was a kid but haven't really been to in a very long time.

:: Erasmus: “When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes.”

:: I was going to make a crack about how Becky conveniently arranged the parade to conclude at the cemetery where Wally’s grave was, but in all likelihood in the world of Funky Winkerbean it’s impossible to plan a parade — indeed, it’s impossible to plan a trip of any significant distance — that doesn’t end up at a graveyard.

:: The first time I saw him, he was striding toward me out of the burning Georgia sun, as helicopters landed behind him. His face was tanned a deep brown. He was wearing a combat helmet, an ammo belt, carrying a rifle, had a canteen on his hip, stood six feet four inches. He stuck out his hand and said, "John Wayne." That was not necessary. (John Wayne was all kinds of awesome.)

More next week.